Reptilian Nature
by Lizyrd
Summary: *Chapter THREE is up! Rejoice!* Oh, and I got a title. When Draco Malfoy shows up in a strange Muggle girl's bedroom, she has two weeks to get him back-- and to figure out how he came in the first place. Swords, fights, dirty laundry, strange dogs, snog
1. A Fight, a Strange Dog, a Sword, and Som...

** Reptilian Nature: a Draco Story ** _ _

Chapter 1   
A Strange Appearance, a Fight, a Sword, a Curse, and some Dirty Laundry 

A/N: Hey! Here's the first chapter, revised and no longer just a first draft. I've also got a title. Snoogles to Missy Lissy, boB, PadfootMew, and Lana Mavi for being my wonderful beta-readers. You guys wrote half the story! ::hugs betas:: What would I do without you *sniff*? 

It was May, and, even with the air conditioner going full blast, it was hot and humid. I was reading Cassandra Claire, home alone, for what had to be the 136th time, when something happened. 

Mom and Dad were due back any second, and I was thinking wistfully about how I wished Harry Potter was real when there was a soft *pop* and a boy appeared. 

I recognized him, of course. How often had I daydreamed about him in class, staring out the window and wishing he were real? How often had my friends teased me for liking a guy who didn't even exist? How often had he showed up in my dreams, looking almost exactly as he did now? I mean, how many times does the guy of your dreams suddenly appear in front of you? Nevertheless, I couldn't believe my eyes. 

He was tall, looked about fifteen or so, had silvery blonde hair, gray sarcastic eyes, and eyebrows that somehow always managed to look wry, even though now they were together in a frown and his eyes were confused. Black robes, sharply angular bones. 

There was absolutely no mistaking it. 

Draco Malfoy stood in my bedroom. 

. 

*** 

. 

. 

I didn't yell, or shriek. I'm not like that-- when something surprises me, I try to cover it up. Still, it was hard not to. The boy too had a stunned look on his face, although I would have described my expression more pole-axed, and not quite so stunned. We stood staring at each other, and to my astonishment, it was I who spoke first. 

"Who-- who are you?" I finally managed to get out in a squeaky whisper, despite the fact that I knew already what the answer would be. That sort of thing just pops out of your mouth during times like these. My voice, which was usually deep for a girl, chose that moment to rocket upward several octaves. 

"Where am I?" The boy ignored my expression. "How did I get here? This isn't Hogwarts-- where have you taken me?" 

In two quick strides, the boy had crossed the room and seized the front of my shirt. I had never been manhandled like that before, except by my brother, and I felt that he-- to put it mildly-- was taking liberties, even though I could see the fear in his silvery eyes. 

Before I could stop myself, I backhanded him across the face. 

. 

*** 

. 

Draco was horribly confused. One moment he was in his dorm, getting ready for school, the next he was in some strange, unfamiliar girl's bedroom. But he had to confess, he hadn't expected her to put up much resistance when he seized her by her collar and nearly hoisted her off her feet-- not a hard task, since she was fairly short, just under five feet five inches, and he was nearly six. 

So it came as a shock when she slapped him with all her strength. 

Draco staggered back; the girl's knuckles were surprisingly bony. Before he could react, she was on him, digging her hands painfully into the muscles of his upper arms. She seemed to know all the right spots to press, and she had her hands where no pretty girl had ever handled him before, but he was in no mood to enjoy it, as it hurt quite a lot. Shooting pains went up and down his arm as the girl applied a considerable amount of pressure to one of the tender spots. 

"Ouch!" he said as he tore free and leapt on her, effectively pinning her to the bed in the corner of the very small room. Snarling, the girl tried to bite him, or claw him with her bitten fingernails, but to no avail. 

"Get off me," she panted finally, spitting and blowing her long brown hair out of her face. Her brown eyes locked with his own gray ones. "Who are you?" 

"Don't ask questions, kid," Draco warned in a dangerously calm voice. He was very, very angry. Who was this girl, to drag him out of his school and then attack him? "I think it would be more appropriate to ask, who are you and where is this place?" He jerked his chin in an encompassing gesture towards the rest of the room. 

He saw fear flicker across her face, the expression mirroring his own. "I am... Lizyrd," she said defensively, glaring at him so hard he had to repress an insane urge to snicker. "And this is my bedroom, in my house, in my neighborhood, in my state, in my country. And who are you?" 

"I'm Dr--" he began reflexively, and stopped as the full implications of her words sunk in on him. "Your state? What do you mean, state? Where am I, exactly? Geographically, I mean." 

"Get off of me and I'll tell you," she snapped, her face tight. Draco rolled off of her and onto the bed, but kept a firm grip on her arms. 

"Thank you very much, kind sir," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, but she continued, "Now, then. You are in Knoxville, Tennessee. In the United States." 

"The United States?" gasped Draco, feeling as though he'd just received a huge electric shock. "But-- how did I get here?" 

"You really are Draco Malfoy, aren't you?" the girl asked curiously. She frowned. "I didn't think you'd be quite so easily... um, amazed."

"I-- what was your name again?" 

"You should really learn to listen more carefully." Draco looked quite vexed, so with a roll of her eyes she finally replied "It's Lizyrd." 

"What kind of a name is that?" 

"How about the one everyone calls me?" 

"Really? I was thinking, 'vicious attacker' or 'possible abductor' might be a little more accurate." The girl chose to ignore this remark, so he continued. "How do you know my name, anyway?" 

The girl nodded to a book on her beside table. Keeping a close eye on her, he picked it up and flicked through it one-handed, while the other was still occupied with pinioning her arms behind her back. 

"Look," said the girl patiently. _ She could play politics well, I bet, _Draco thought, amused, but he was impressed at how fast she changed tracks. Currently, she was exasperated, but generally friendly. Moments ago she had been incredibly hostile. As in, trying to kill him. "I won't jump on you again. Not unless you attack me first, that is. Now, can we just have some mutual trust here and let go of my arms?" 

Draco looked at the girl suspiciously, and put the book aside, which he had not so much as even glanced at. Obviously she was lying, she had to have brought him here. He wished he had his wand, but of course it was at Hogwarts and he was here… in what was it? Knobville…Knoxville! Yes that was it! In…um, Tennessee? However, but there were certain spells that could be done without a wand. Of course, the one he had in mind wasn't strictly…legal, but oh well... 

He raised his left hand. "_ Veritas! _ " 

*** 

Lizyrd gave a little shriek and bit her lip as the truth spell took hold of her. She felt like she was being stripped of each and every defense she had, even bodily ones, until all that lay on the bed was her heart, and its secrets, thumping quickly. It hurt too, like wires running through her blood, shooting short currents of electricity through them. From somewhere up above and to her right, she heard a voice say, 

"Did you bring me here?" 

A small shuddering breath ran through her. She tried not to speak, but it did not help. She had to answer. "Not to the best of my knowledge." She heard herself speak and almost smiled. She had always prided herself not to make assumptions, not to give any word that could be considered a lie, and congratulated herself on her excellent phrasing. 

"How old are you?" 

"Twelve. Thirteen in a few weeks." 

"Really?" Draco leaned over her, looking interested. "You don't act it... or look it." 

"Gee, thanks," said Lizyrd drily. The spell did not prevent her from saying things, so long as they were true. "I really didn't need to know that as soon as you came in you were looking at my figure. Isn't that just like a perverse hormone-crazed teenager?" 

"Emphasis on the act, then, if it'll make you feel better. And I am NOT hormone-crazed.. or perverse for that matter." Lizyrd snorted. 

"Listen to us. I have known you, what, ten minutes or so? We met by fighting each other, then you put what I'm betting is a totally illegal curse on me, and we're already bantering like old friends!" 

"I have that effect on people," said Draco modestly. 

"Will you just take this horrible thing off?" Now she wasn't fighting it so much, it didn't hurt, just felt weird and exposed. 

"One last question. What's your name?-- your real name, mind." 

"Li--" 

Then his hand was over her mouth, and she heard him say, "_Finite Incantatum,_" and the enchantment was gone. Lizyrd sat up slowly, and Draco, without thinking, reached out a hand to help her up. She took it without thinking as well. Her whole body ached as if it had been beaten. 

"I'm sorry," Draco said quietly. "I shouldn't have done that." 

"Don't worry about it. I probably would have done _ Avada Kedavra _ if I were you. I get sort of frantic when I'm taken out of my element." 

"So do I." 

They sat there, on the bed, each staring at the other, and neither could think of anything to say. That is, until the crunch of gravel announced her father's homecoming. 

"Oh, crap!" Lizyrd leaped off the bed and began to reveal her extensive vocabulary of swear words. Draco was impressed-- he wondered where she had gotten them. 

Lizyrd lifted her bedcovers. "Quick! Under the bed!" 

. 

*** 

. 

.

"Ugh, what is that bloody awful smell?" complained Draco, until a hand reached down and forcibly shoved him under the bed. He found the source almost immediately; it was a pile of dirty laundry, with an extremely stinky dog nestled on top of it. The combined stench of the two was almost suffocating, and he lifted the sheet so he could get a breath of air. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep from hyperventilating. 

"Lizyrd!" The bellow rang through the house, loud but not angry. 

"Coming, Dad!" The girl-- Lizyrd, he reminded himself --scampered off to go see what her father wanted. Scampered was not really the right word, Draco thought, bounded was more like it. She moved like a cat or a deer would; light on her feet. He wondered suddenly if she played any sports. 

There was a murmur of low voices in the hall, then Lizyrd came back into the room. She shut the door and dragged him out from under the bed. 

"Thank God," said Draco lightly, "I can get out. I was about to asphyxiate in thick space." 

"Shh!" Lizyrd put a finger to her lips and jerked her head towards the door. "It's not that thick." 

"What, your head, the air or the door? Because I can testify--" 

"Lizyrd?" There came a knock on the door. "It's Nick. Are you all right? I thought I heard you talking to someone. Can I come in?" 

_ Not under the bed again, _ Draco prayed, but instead he was forcibly pushed into the closet. Luckily it was a walk-in one, so he had plenty of room. 

"Yes?" She opened the door-- the slats of the door were arranged so Draco could see out, but no one could see in. Draco nearly fainted when he saw who walked in. 

If _ this _ was Lizyrd's brother, and if he was even slightly protective of his little sister, than Draco was going to run in the opposite direction. Very, very fast. As fast as he possibly could, in fact. Six feet was tall by ordinary standards, but this guy was huge.... absolutely humongous. He had to be at least five inches taller than Draco, with a wild, curly mess of hair, green eyes, and extremely long arms and legs. 

Not surprisingly, the first word that came to mind was _ eeep. _

"Are you all right?" he asked his sister concernedly. "I thought I heard you talking to someone." 

"Oh, no, just thinking out loud," Lizyrd stuttered. "I-- had a tape on too. Yeah. And I've-- uh, I need to change now, so I think you should go." 

_ I take back the politician remark, _ Draco thought. _She can't lie for-- _ but he never got to finish this thought. Her brother's next statement was too interesting. "Yeah, right, go on, just keep dreaming and talking to your evil little Malfoy character, see if I care. He doesn't even exist, so get over him." 

_Oi, she_ talks _ to me?_ He thought about this revelation and smirked. _ I mean, I knew I was popular, but... _ Draco almost laughed, but caught himself just in time. 

"Yes, you should definitely go," Lizyrd said firmly, pushed him out of the room and closed the door in his face. A classic move used by siblings everywhere. She gave a muttered, "Argh. Now I have to change shirts or he'll get suspicious. Older brothers, honestly", and began to lift her shirt over her head. Draco stayed very quiet, hoping she wouldn't remember about him. 

As though sensing his thoughts, she lowered her shirt. "Draco," she said, "Can you see out of that closet?" 

Draco gave no reply. 

"I know you can," she said threateningly, and was rewarded by eliciting a response. 

"Damn," said Draco matter-of-factly. 

"You evil, perverted bastard. You didn't say anything," she hissed, crossing to the wardrobe and yanking the door open. Draco was not expecting this, and consequently he was leaning against it, and so he tumbled out, and a variety of rather hard pointy objects from her closet landed on top of him.

"Kid…" 

"It's Lizyrd!" she said quickly, interrupting him. 

"Whatever," Draco said wearily, straightening up painfully and examining something silver on the floor. "Why in the bloody hell do you have a sword in your closet?" 

A/N: Yes, I know that's an awful place to leave you, but I want to you to read the next part. Do you see that little box down there? It's caaaalllliinnnng..... ::creepy voice:: Do you know what it's for? I think it's pretty self-explanatory. I'd love you forever if you reviewed and told me what you did and didn't like, even if you didn't like most of it. To flamers, I quote: 

_ The Moving Finger writes; and having writ,   
Moves on: nor all they Piety nor Wit   
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,   
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it. _

-The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam 

Next chapter: Why DOES Lizyrd have a sword in her closet? Will she dismember Draco with it? Will Draco survive without his members? Will Nick pound Draco into the floor, or will Lizyrd kick her brother's ass because she doesn't really care if Draco's in her bedroom or not? And will someone find out and take Draco away? (They're coming to take me away, haha! They're coming to take me away!) Sorry, touch of silliness. 

And the thanks section (yes, you will get in here if you review): Miss Liss (luck at Netball), PadfootMew (hope the weather's better!), Bob spelled backwards (love your name), Orpheus (promise! Next chapter! And hurry up on your slogan, I want to make your banner!), Lana Mavi (your suggestions were great!), Harrys Crush (yes, I think you can see I'm planning on making it full sized), *star**kitty*, nunya (sorry you think it stinks, tell me why please), jo, Netsurfer77, Trinity, (Lizyrd is me, of course! Hehehehe! I know it's a weird name.), Someone, Gem, Devonny Stratton, Kelly, Sailor Courtney, and of course, me (yes, I review my own stories!) 


	2. In Which Things Get Interesting

A/N: Sorry this has taken so long, but it DID turn out to be fifteen pages, so that's compensation. I must say, this is the most fun I've had writing a fic in a long time. This part's sort of interesting, as it introduces other characters and other plot twists. Whee! Also, there is a reference sorta thingee to a very famous nursery rhyme. Whoever finds it and puts the answer in a review or emails it to me wins and gets fifty points. Fifty points that get you absolutely nothing, but oh well. 

Disclaimer: I don't think I put one of these into the beginning, so I will now. Nothing belongs to me, not even the nursery rhyme. It's all property of J.K. Rowling, no matter what Warner Bros. says. Except Lizyrd and Denae. They belong to me. Oh, and Nodd. Yeah. Um, the Veritas curse was invented by Cassandra Claire. Thanks Cassie, and get the next part up, dammit. 

As always, this fic is rated PG13 for perhaps some violence, perhaps some snogging, and perhaps some innuendo. For those who do not know what snogging is, it is NOT.. well, for lack of a better phrasing, it is not getting it on, or having sex. It's prolonged kissing and perhaps some touchy-feely, (not dirty touchy-feely). I don't really know, I've never done it, and PadfootMew was absolutely horrified when I asked her. Everyone has their different opinions on exactly what snogging includes, but we all agree, it's not having sex. Kapish? So don't flame me and tell me I'm sick. (coughcough-EventhoughIam-coughcough). 

** Reptilian Nature Chapter 2: In Which it Gets Interesting **

"Oh, that?" Lizyrd crossed the room in two long strides. "It's a Schlagger." 

"A what?" Draco was now seriously confused. "Maybe Muggles have a different name for them, but I've always known them just as 'swords'." 

"It's a type of light rapier," Lizyrd explained, warming to her subject with alarming rapidity. "Used in the sixteenth century, men-- and occasionally women-- would carry around a long, easy-to-use type of mostly stabbing sword. It only took two pounds of pressure to drive it through someone, and because no one was wearing armor at court, it was indefinitely more practical--" 

"And why," Draco interrupted hastily, before, he suspected, she could _ really _ get going, "do you have a centuries-old sword in your closet?" 

"It's not centuries old," Lizyrd said, a smile quirking the corners of her mouth. "It's a modern remake. I fence." 

"Oh." That explains why she's so graceful. "And do you enjoy stabbing people?" 

"We use bates," the girl shrugged, and gestured at the thick, orange rubber stopper on the end. "And protective gear. It's safe. And yes, I do enjoy it immensely. I find metaphorically killing people to be very therapeutic. Not to mention exercising." 

Draco privately scoffed at this last statement. The modern swords were obviously lighter than the old ones; everyone knew knights had visible muscles. 

"Go on, pick it up," said Lizyrd, as if she had read his thoughts. She was definitely grinning now. 

Draco reached down... and his eyes widened with amazement as he made a sound suspiciously like "ooof". The sword was much, much heavier than it looked, but the feel of it in his hand was good, and balanced, and it thrilled his blood, although his arm muscles could not be termed the same. Lizyrd held out a hand for it, her eyes alight. Draco passed it over with some reluctance. 

She just held it for a moment, fingers curled around it, the tops of them just brushing the bottom of the bell guard. Then she made a move with sudden violence, lunging across the room with astonishing speed, slamming the point against the wall calendar with precision and coming back to en guard position with the same swiftness. Draco was now very, very impressed. 

"You're good," he said admiringly. She laughed, and dropped the sword into his grasp again. 

"Not really. I'm only a student. But fencing is what I'm best at." 

Draco looked at her, really truly looked at her for the first time, noticing things he would probably overlook at any other time. He noticed the smooth plane of her cheekbones, the pert, short, upturned nose, the liquid brown eyes that always seemed amused or happy, the delicately uplifted eyebrows, the luster of her hair, the rose of her cheeks, flushed with excitement, and decided she really was fairly pretty. 

_ What am I _ thinking? _ She's a bloody Muggle! I have to get back to Hogwarts. _

"So," he said casually, "it's been fun and all, but, you know, I should be going." 

Lizyrd stared blankly at him. 

"After all, I might have missed classes," he urged, "come on, if you know me, you must know Hogwarts. Perhaps you might be so kind as to take me back?" 

She spoke, and her words were a knell of doom. "I can't do that." 

*** 

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were indeed thick, but not so thick as not to know what to do when "Master Malfoy" vanished into thin air. Well, that wasn't strictly true. It looked more like he was being sucked down a drain-- he thinned, his image swirled once or twice, became translucent and _ then _ he vanished into thin air. 

Anyway, they told Snape. 

"Disappeared, you say," said Snape, frowning, pursing his lips and stroking his stubble thoughtfully. "Very interesting." 

"D'you want us to tell Dumbledore?" asked Goyle, furrowing his unibrow. 

"Tell Dumbledore?" Snape repeated silkily. "I see no reason to-- after all, young Mr. Malfoy will be found without trouble... and I'm sure neither of you two would say anything that could possibly lose me my job..." 

At once, Snape realized his mistake in telling the two cronies that his position at the school was precarious indeed, for Dumbledore was not quite as trusting as most made him out to be, and with the Dark Lord on the rise again any little thing and the headmaster would whisk him away from his precious innocent students. But as Crabbe and Goyle shook their heads stupidly and muttered _ no, nevers _, he felt increasingly confident that they were too stupid to do anything that might endanger his status. 

"Go along to classes, now," he said smoothly, and the duo of goons hurried away, muttering to each other. 

As soon as they were out of sight, Snape slouched back into his dungeon and began to search his shelves. This was not good. His prize student was gone, and if Dumbledore found out, the headmaster would not be happy at all. His only hope was to set up a Locator charm, and that was a complex, very long process involving a tricky combination of a Potion and a spell. 

But currently, it was his only option. _ Thank God it's Saturday, _ thought Snape worriedly. _ If I had classes-- _

A loud bump in the corridor outside disturbed him. Snape strode over to the door and cautiously poked his head out, in case it was a vengeful student ready to hurl a curse at him. 

The hallway was empty. Of course, there were plenty of niches a wary pupil could duck into, but Snape really didn't want to wasted the time it would take to check them. 

A loud scraping noise, almost like a boot against stone, reverberated through the corridor. Snape shrugged; perhaps it was the air vents. They had been making strange noises lately, noises which Snape had never heard before. Creaks and scuffs, sort of. But then, the building was old, well beyond ancient. 

In a small wall recess about twenty feet from Snape, a tall, red-haired girl, limber and bright-eyed, smiled and scrabbled for a foot-hold in the smooth stone wall, her leather shoes sliding down the wall a little, and levered herself up to a duct opening. She knew Dumbledore would be interested in what she had heard of the conversation. 

*** 

"What'd you mean, you can't do that?" Draco stared incredulously. 

"I mean what I said. I can't do that." Lizyrd shook her head, sat down on the edge of the bed, and lay back, yawning as if tired. 

"Oh. I get it." He repressed an urge to shake her. "All right, I understand, truth spells are draining. I'll wait around until you're back on your feet." He tried to force a smile, but it might have been a grimace. "After all, what are friends for?" 

"No, no," Lizyrd corrected, covering a jaw-cracking yawn with one hand. "I mean I actually _ can't _ do that. Oxford definition. As in, physically and mentally unable." 

"But..." Draco cast his mind around desperately. "You must have some sort of.. telepathic transportation device. Floo powder? An owl?" 

"Not unless you know the e-mail address of Hogwarts. Most I can do for you is snail-mail J.K. Rowling. She might be able to help." 

"What? What's--" 

"Nothing." 

"What am I supposed to _ do _?" asked Draco rhetorically, glaring at Lizyrd. 

"Meditate on it?" suggested Lizyrd. "Actually, I think this is the part where you're supposed to swear a whole bunch, and then I'm supposed to compliment you on your imagery. Something about sharp gratings, brooms, and very heavy hats or something. No, that was a threat. Sorry." 

"I swear, you know more about me than I do," said Draco, amused. Then he sobered. "But the question remains: how do I get home? Or, at the very worst, to Hogwarts? Hell, to Scotland would be an improvement."  "I really don't know. The obvious choice would be to find a witch or wizard, but--" 

"There's no way to tell by just looking, and going up asking random strangers 'do you have any magical ability?' is going to get you burned at the stake." 

"Pretty much," Lizyrd acknowledged grimly. "If only it weren't Tennessee! I have a feeling we'd only get the wrong kind of magic." 

"What do you mean? Surely there aren't that many Dark--" 

"Oh, no, not like that. Wiccans, Pagans. Muggle versions of magic, having to do with physic abilities. Nice people, but they can't really help us much. At least, not in this situation. And anyway, I'm not sure there are any of your sort in Tennessee. We're definetly the least accepting state for things like that, and if there were they'd probably be either so well hidden we couldn't find them or Dark Arts practitioners so we wouldn't want to find them." 

"But-- Professor Snape--" 

"Of course!" Lizyrd bounced off the bed and landed with a thump on the floor. "I'm so stupid! They'll search for you! All we have to do is wait. I'm sure they'll search Tennessee top to bottom within the next, oh, say, sixty years or so. Not much of a wait, eh? Hey, you might even learn to fence by then. I could teach you. No, seriously, Malfoy, what're they gonna do, put an ad in the bloody paper?" 

"Kid," said Draco wearily. This girl tired him out. "It's serious. As in, nothing to make jokes about." 

"I wasn't joking, I was being _ sarcastic. _ There's a difference," she grumbled, but shut up briefly. Draco took the chance to ruminate. Then: 

"Malfoy, what spells can you do without a wand? I sort of need to know so I can plan our strategy." 

"Strategy?" 

"Well, I'm not going to turn you out on the streets, and knowing what we've got to work with would be helpful." 

"Doubtless. But what about your family?" 

"Luckily, they're gone for most of the day, during the summer holidays. We can fend for ourselves well enough, I guess, and we can--" 

"Whoa," interrupted Draco quickly. He picked up a hackey-sack that had been lying on the floor and began to squeeze it angrily. He felt irrationally annoyed; usually it was he who did all the planning, and to have a younger girl, of all people, step in and start, not only being friendly, but helping him, was disorienting. "There is no "we". There is no "ourselves" involved here. This is me, and you are assisting because you want me out of here, kapish? I take care of me, you take care of you. I am _ my _ top priority, you are _ your _ top priority." 

"If that's the way you want it, fine," said Lizyrd, but she looked dubious and maybe a little hurt, he couldn't tell. "Malfoy," she added viciously, comtempt showing through her semi-neutral tone. "And I still need that list." 

"Listen, I thought I told you, kid--" he broke off, and sighed. He had a feeling Lizyrd was determined to get it. "All right. We-- that is, you, know first-hand I can do the Truth spell. I can also do an advanced form of an Opening Charm, set things on fire, and levitate small objects." 

"That's it?" 

"Yes, that's it. I'd like to see you do any better." 

"Well..." Lizyrd drew out the word thoughtfully. "Um... I can see auras." 

Draco dropped the beanbag. "See auras?" 

"Yes, see auras." 

"And what practical purpose does that serve?" he asked rhetorically, not expecting an answer. Unfortunately, he got one. 

"Virtually none," she admitted. Then her expression cleared. "Oh, and I can juggle." 

"I repeat my question." 

"You never know," she said defensively. "But none of these things, neither yours nor mine, seems to help us much. The real question is: what are we going to do about it? " 

The query hung between them, almost palpable, for a long, long time. 

Then Lizyrd snapped her fingers. 

"I've got it." 

*** 

Anyone who happened to be around the third corridor on the second floor of Hogwarts at midmorning that particularly interesting and fateful Saturday would have been, to say the least, surprised. An old, cracked statue of Rowena Ravenclaw slid aside, revealing a passageway underneath, through which a girl crawled out. She wore, not the standard black robes of normal Hogwarts students, but loose, blue cotton breeches, a sturdy, sand-colored tunic, and scuffed leather boots. The girl's hair was so red it was almost black, and her dark blue eyes sparkled with childish delight. 

Humming a song to herself and absently running her fingers through her snakey locks, the girl all but skipped to the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster's office at the end of the corridor and took out her wand. She ran her fingers over it briefly, then jammed it forcefully up one of the poor gargoyle's nostrils. 

The depiction sprang aside, plucking the wand out from its nose with much grinding and scraping of rock. Muttering furiously about the "damn security recognition system", it opened the door for her and showed her into the stairwell, then promptly and with undue haste abandoned its guest to take up the guard position at the door again. 

The girl shrugged, and started up the staircase without waiting for the automatic mechanism to kick in. It started with a lurch, as though offended by her impatience. 

It would have propelled her through the door into Dumbledore's office, had not she grabbed the rail to steady herself. She raised her hand to knock, but the door swung open without her assistance and the headmaster himself smiled down his crooked nose at her, his light blue eyes twinkling kindly but penatratingly down at her. 

"Ah, Miss Denae Gordon, I was expecting you. Step right in and have a seat," he said, and went back to his carved chair behind the large oak desk. The girl nervously tried to smooth her smock before she sat down facing him. Dumbledore looked consideringly at her for a moment, then spoke to the house-elf in the corner. 

"Nodd, would you bring some food for our guest, please? She looks famished." 

The house-elf, Nodd, blinked, bobbed his head respectfully and scampered off, his tea-towel flapping. Denae Gordon grinned and winked at him as he shut the door. The Headmaster of Hogwarts had always insisted that the only thing he knew how to do when he wished to express gratitude was to feed people, and thus she nearly always got a meal when she came to see him. 

"Denae," said Dumbldore suddenly, leaning forward, "am I wrong to suspect you came to me for more than to be fed?" 

"No, no," Denae told him, feeling suddenly a little uncomfortable, "you're not wrong, Master Albus. You hardly ever are, after all. I've got some more information. About Snape." She swallowed. "I overheard him and two of the students, I don't know their names." 

"Describe them," Dumbledore ordered. 

"I didn't see them. I'm sorry, Professor. I couldn't even say what their voices sounded like, or what age they were. I know it's not at all up to my usual par, but..." 

The headmaster looked grave, but he urged her to continue. "That's quite all right, Denae, anything you overhear or find out may be of use to us. In times of war, a wise soldier must trust his comrades completely, but it is a foolish commander who does the same. Especially those soldiers who happen to have a very interesting background." 

"So you don't trust Snape?" asked Denae curiously. 

Dumbledore regarded her for a moment. "Well, since you're not a student I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you. No, I trust Severus, as far as matters of free will go." 

Denae shook her head. "I don't understand." 

"He could very easily be acting under the Imperious Curse, and be unable to fight it off, or indeed warn anyone. Or he could be acting under the threat of the Cruciatus Curse, or even Avada Kedavra. Under a Truth Spell, or the influence of Veritaserum, even the most guarded is vulnerable. Which is exactly why he is privy to only the most minor of my plans." 

"Why is it you mistrust only he out of all the other teachers?" Denae queried. 

"Because of old ties." Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "Old connections, old friends, old allies, old enemies.) The Dark Mark. The Sepultura curse, which Voldemort uses to burn his mark in the flesh of his followers. Even I do not know what bonds a lasting spell like that brings to a man and his master. They could be tracking him down right now for all we know, or they could be unable to find him because he used to be the Dark Lord's servant. We have no idea, only guesses, and for now we must be on our guard. But excuse me, I seem to be raving. Carry on with your information, please." 

"Master Albus, I'm afraid there's not that much to tell. I was roaming the dungeons, keeping an eye on things as you asked me, and I practically walked in on Snape and two of the students, as I said. I didn't hear the beginning of their little conversation, but from what I heard, it sounded like someone was missing. Then Snape mentioned something about losing his job, and the students said something too quiet to hear, and that's all." 

Dumbledore leaned across the desk and fixed the teenager with his piercing gaze. "Are you sure you don't know who is missing?" 

"I don't, Professor, I swear it. I should think it would be a Slytherin, but I'm not one hundred per cent sure on that." 

"That's quite all right." Dumbledore templed his hands under his chin and thought while Denae chewed hungrily on the fruit and cheese Nodd the house-elf had brought. After a moment, he spoke again. 

"I believe we can find out whom they were talking about easily enough. Now, would you be so kind as to run to Diagon Alley and pick up a few things for me?" 

Denae hastily swallowed and wiped her mouth on her sleeve, disregarding the napkins Nodd had carefully arranged on the table. "Of course." 

*** 

"Got what?" Draco blinked. He had been broken out of his wistful reverie of life at Hogwarts with people he knew inside and out by Lizyrd's exclamation of delight. 

"How to get you back, of course." 

"Well, how?" Somehow, Draco couldn't muster up her enthusiasm. 

"If I can see auras, perhaps I can detect something that distinguishes you from ordinary Muggles in your aura. If that's the case, then it should be no problem to find a witch or wizard. I'll simply look at their aura." 

"And what if you can't tell the difference?" he demanded. 

"We-- I'll --burn that bridge when I come to it. It'll probably work." Lizyrd sighed, but it didn't seem to be a sigh of annoyance that he'd pointed it out. More of a sigh of sadness, although sadness at what was beyond him. 

Instead he asked, "What do I have to do?" 

"Just sit against that wall, there," said Lizyrd. "Right about-- there." 

She sat him down on the edge of the bed, the white wall behind him, and turned on the lamp over her desk. "All right. I'll need you to hold two fingers up about six inches away from the wall.." Lizyrd took his hand, and, holding it lightly, just barely touching his fingers as though they were made of glass, arranged them carefully around a pencil she produced out of her dresser drawer, then jerked back as if his ordinary flesh were molten metal. 

Looking visibly relieved to be out of close quarters with him, she settled herself gracefully and closed her eyes. Draco wondered how she was supposed to see his aura if she had her eyes closed, but decided not to intrude. Lizyrd certainly acted like she knew what she was doing, and if she didn't, well, her excellent imitation of knowing certainly deserved the benefit of a doubt. 

_This might take a while, _ Draco realized, so he closed his own eyes and relaxed, trying to clear his mind of any thoughts or worries and drift blissfully in the peaceful, open blackness behind his eyelids. 

But it wasn't black. Colors swirled in front of him: emerald greens, the color of leaves in the high summer, deep royal blues, like the ocean, laced with soft fawn browns like live wood in the beginning of spring and shot with threads of silver, gold and copper. 

There was a starburst of silver behind his eyelids and, surprised, he opened them. And gasped. 

The same colors drifted around the girl on the floor, coalescating into a glorious whirl and dance about her head, shoulders and hands. Slowly Lizyrd opened her eyes and looked-- or rather, looked past-- his fingers. A number of different emotions crossed her face; hope, quickly followed by disappointment. The bright hues around her faded a little. 

Draco must have been frowning without realizing it, for her gaze transferred to his face and a real grin, not a bitter or a sarcastic one, broke over her face. It was infectous; soon Draco found he was smiling as well. She extended one finger gently toward him and a wave of brilliant green fire broke from it to wash over him, dousing him with a delicious warmth. It circled around to gather into a sphere of light in his lap, and he heard Lizyrd's voice, as if from far off. 

_ "I give you a small serenity." _

And then, as if a door had closed, it was gone-- the colors, the warmth, the fire. His anxiety and anger returned in a different kind of wave; a tidal wave, crashing into him. In his haste to find out if he could get home or not, Draco almost forgot the gift. 

"Did you see anything?" he inquired eagerly. 

Lizyrd sprawled on the carpet, looking very, very dazed and perhaps a little drunk. She shook her head to clear it and replied unsteadily, "No. I saw blacks, greys, silvers, reds and greens. That is only to be expected. There was no gold, or anything else that would indicate unusual abilities." 

"So it didn't work." Draco slammed his fist furiously into the mattress. 

Lizyrd sat up, and reached a hand toward him timidly, but pulled back so swiftly it was almost rude. "I'm sorry, Draco." The way she phrased it, it wasn't an offering, as most apologies were, but a firm statement. 

"Don't apologize," he growled. "I don't, why should you?" 

"Well, aren't we an ungrateful bastard today? And you do apologize." Lizyrd grinned again. "You did, when you first met me. The Veritas curse. Odd, isn't it, how you'd apologize to me when you barely knew me and won't do it now?" 

"Shut up, you smart-assed wench," said Draco, but he said it amicably. 

"Ungrateful bastard." 

"Smart-assed wench." 

"Bastard." 

"Wench." 

"Bastard." 

"Wench." 

Lizyrd burst out laughing. 

Draco felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He could see what she was laughing at, in a way. And it was refreshing to have someone who wasn't scared to argue with him. A sort of challenge, but this time, he felt it had pretty much been a draw. 

*** 

Snape emptied a small vial of bluish liquid labeled "elves' tears" into a huge stone cauldron, etched and chased with weird silver symbols, and watched as it hissed and blended with the thin red brew. Absently he kicked a burning branch back into the green-tinted fire, the emerald light throwing strange designs on his half-shadowed face as he watched the pot intently. As the concoction boiled and seethed, he bent to examine one of the many drawings on the cauldron's side. 

The Potions master reached out and touched one. It was a small pentagram, the graven lines that formed the star filled with mercury. As his finger came in contact, a golden spark raced around the edges of the shape, then disappeared. Snape smiled slightly and straightened up. The wards protecting the cauldron from all eyes but his were still in place, although they would wear off in another hour or two. Now he all he had to do was wait. 

He went to his desk, took out parchment and quill, and began to write. 

It was perhaps five minutes later when the smell of smoke reached him. With a muffled yell and a not-so-muffled curse, he jumped out of his chair, not bothering to retrieve the paper which had fluttered to the floor in his haste, and raced over to the cauldron. A fresh wave of thick vermillion smoke enveloped him when he reached it, and, swearing, he knelt by it to see what damage had been done. 

_ Bugger, _ thought Snape with feeling. _ I see what happened. Something disturbed the firespell and it malfunctioned. If the crucible hadn't given way, the whole thing could have gone up in flames. But how? And what could have caused the firespell to go beserk like that? _

He fumbled in his robes for his wand, pulled it out and tapped the cauldron once. Instantly, all the enchantments surrounding it flared into sight. 

Snape started violently. The reason for this was clear; the blue pentagram that showed the wards he had put up around the cauldron to protect it from sight was now intertwined with the green cage of the spell he put on the fire to maintain it. The wards would now last only as long as the fire kept burning, and the firespell was by no means a permanent one. He tried to pry them apart with several tricky spells, but was unable to. 

After a closer examination, Snape determined that what had fused the two looked suspiciously like an Advanced Opening Charm and an Invisibility Incantation. He sighed; there was only one easy way to solve this, but unfortunately it might also ruin his Locator potion. However, currently it was the only option. 

_ "Finite--" _

A heavy silver hand clamped over his mouth and a Stunning spell hit him in the back with bruising force. Severus Snape slumped to the floor, his wand falling from his suddenly limp fingers. His glassy eyes slowly closed, his ears unable to hear the high laugh that issued from under the hood of his cloaked attacker. 

As the figure carefully cast a spell of Invisibility, and stepped out into the corridor, levitating Snape before him, the fire behind them sputtered and died. 

*** 

Denae wandered Diagon Alley worriedly. It was almost dark, and the most of the streets were empty, and the shops closed, but she had everything she needed and was now just looking for the way out. She'd never been to the wizarding district before, and it was all very confusing. The few places that were open were mostly pubs and restaraunts, and their cheery glow was more and more welcome as the sky above faded to navy blue velvet. 

As she went farther and father, the occasional street lamps got fewer and fewer. The full moon's light was the only illumination now, and it glinted off of a signpost at the corner. It was too dim to read the first word, but the second one was definitely "Alley". Denae frowned. Was it possible she had gone astray, off the main road and into some other little road? She squinted down the road. It was definitely narrower, and it seemed darker, although that might have just been the night. But far down, at the very end of it, she thought she could detect a glow. A very unpleasant, reddish glow. 

But perhaps that was the Leaky Cauldron, and the glow was merely the light of candles behind the crimson curtains? There was no way to know but to go to it. 

She began to walk quickly down the street, and as she went, the glow resolved itself, not into candles, but a huge bonfire. There were figures dancing around it and even from this distance, the sound of chanting could be heard. She ran toward it now, and stifled a cry of pain when her shoulder banged hard into the open door of one shop. 

But it was already too late. Her cry had attracted the attention of the dancers, and they came toward her, backlit by the fire, a terrifying mass of hideous creatures; hags and trolls and other things she did not recognize, things with blonde hair and beaks and things that looked like wolves with long, angular snouts. 

Denae chanced a glance behind her. More of these…haunts had poured from shops and her way back was blocked as well. There was no escape. 

A heavy hand descended on her shoulder, and she was yanked back into the shadow of a building. Someone covered her mouth, and she spun to face her captor. 

He was barely distinguishable from the night itself, dressed in robes of midnight blue, a blue belt, blue gloves, and a blue hood, wrapped around with a blue scarf. Even the veil that covered all of his face but his eyes was blue, and he was so wrapped up in cloth as to be sexless, but the voice that came from under the fabric a moment later was definitely male. 

"Don't scream. I'm here to help you. Just come this way." 

The gloved hand was removed from her mouth, and Denae, puzzled but willing to risk it, was led through a back door into a large shop. The shop was dark, but the man lit a candle and watched with amusement as Denae stared around her in horrified amazement. 

There were dead spiders adorning the walls, three glass eyes in cases, a silver cross in the corner, a snake carved out of solid emerald, to name but a few. Everything in the store was ugly or cursed or served some evil purpose. The man let her look her fill, then turned she turned her attention back to him. 

"Who-- what are you?" 

"Well, that's a very interesting question. I think it would be more appropriate for you to see my face and answer your own question." 

The man turned his back and did something with his hood and veil, revealing longish black hair, then he turned to face Denae again. 

And she screamed. 

A/N: I'm evil. But we already knew that. Next chapter: why is Denae so frightened, and what's so scary about this dude in blue? And who was the evil tosser who kidnapped our favorite Potions master, and why did he do it? And what will the cauldron do for entertainment, sitting there on its own? What was Snape writing? Will Crabbe and Goyle tell? Will Draco and Lizyrd ever hook up, or indeed even be particularly friendly to one another? What is the nature of the relationship between Denae and Dumbledore, and why isn't she at Hogwarts? Will Harry and Hermione and Ron ever BE in this story? Will Harry's ego die of shock if he isn't? All (or most.. or none) of the these questions answered, well, as soon as I get around to finding out and writing it! 

Thanks section: Orpheus, PadfootMew, Lana Mavi, Bob Spelled Backwards (sorry you'll have to resign, it's been great), and Miss Liss, schnoogles to you for being my betas, and for reviewing, etc. Thanks also to Sailor Courtney V, Kelly (sorry, I think I missed you in the last one), Devony Stratton, Someone, Gem, Netsurfer77, Trinity, Jo, Nunya, *Star**Kitty*, Harrys Crush, SaltineRitz, Dewi, and Roxanne Malfoy. Thank you all! 


	3. Enter Sandman

Well, in this installment of the Mysterious Magnum Opus, (or Magnopus, as I like to call it), things get more complicated. I apologize for any harsh treatment of the characters, and all the ones whom I didn't make up belong to J.K. Rowling, and I will return them in like-new condition or buy her new ones in the event one should be permanently damaged, I promise. ^_^ As per usual, this bit is rated PG13 for drinking, smoking, cursing, blood, snogging and innuendo, not to mention anything else twisted I might come up with. The title of the chapter is the name of a Metallica song. 

/This part is dedicated, in a very strange way, to all the guys in Walmart who tried to hit on me in the electronics section whilst I was writing it. (Me: "What part of piss off, I'm writing my magnum opus don't you understand? Please, enlighten me so I may clarify." Guy: "Uh, I didn't understand half of that. You use too many big words." Me: "Good.") As I've said, I look about sixteen or seventeen, not thirteen./ 

BY THE WAY, that reference to a nursery rhyme-- I'm sorry, I realized I took it out in the second draft.... whoopsies. To make it up, there's a reference to a president in here, I swear there is. Like, his name. In order. Really. 

Chapter Three: Enter Sandman 

_ "If life hands you a bowl of lemons  
don't forget to send them back   
and ask for a refund!"   
-Chris, my fencing teacher _

And she screamed. 

*** 

Albus Dumbledore stared around the dungeon, his piercing blue eyes serious and worried. The half-full cauldron, the parchment on the floor, the quill lying on the desk, the inkbottle still unscrewed, all these he took in at a glance, as well as the faint lingering smell of smoke. 

The tripod was undisturbed, no liquid was on the floor. There was no sign of a struggle, but Severus was most definitely gone. 

Dumbledore drew out the parchment Snape had been writing on, and re-read it for the sixth time. 

_ Maria Bargram-   
Something's come up. Can you come up to Hogwarts and teach for a few days? I'll have made my excuses by the time you arrive (I'm going to say my cousin is fatally ill), but in reality one of my students, Draco Malfoy has vanished. I'm setting up a Locator Potion, but once I find him I may need a few days to retrieve him, and I want Dumbledore none the wiser. You're the only other Potions maker who's up to Master level that I know, and even as a subsitute you will need that qualification. I know this may be vague, but please come anyway, and I'll explain in more accurate _

There was no more. The parchment was blank after that, and even a Revealer charm would show nothing. It looked like Snape was interrupted in the middle of his letter, although interrupted by what Dumbledore did not know. 

So it was Draco Malfoy that was missing. _ That doesn't explain a damned thing, Dumbledore thought wearily. I wouldn't put it past Lucius to take the boy home for summer early without telling anyone. But that theory doesn't sit right, somehow. Surely young Malfoy would have told Snape he was leaving, he is Snape's favorite student. _ Dumbledore sighed, and saved the train of thought that came with the words "Snape's favorite student" for the Pensive. 

_ I just don't know...... _

It was time to call in this Maria Bargram person, and see if she knew anything. 

*** 

Smoky crimson light served to offset the emerald green of Harry Potter's half-lidded eyes quite nicely; or would have, if he hadn't been drowsy to the point where they were glassy and glazed. Half asleep, paying no attention whatsoever to Professor Trelawney, the Divination teacher, and yawning profusely, he rested his head on his elbow and prepared to drop off to sleep. 

Bang! 

His arm had slid off the slick surface of the polished table and hit the corner of it with a loud noise. Harry sat up straight with a jump, blinking lassitude from behind his round glasses, and chanced a glance at Professor Trelawney, who looked distinctly miffed. Her two greatest admirers, who also happened to be Harry's fellow classmates, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, manifested their indignity by scandalized expressions. Harry's friend Ron Weasley, on the other hand, looked grateful for the interruption, and took the distraction of their instructor as a chance to shuffle his tarot cards again. 

"Really, my dear," Professor Trelawney was saying mournfully, as Harry brought his attention back to her, "you should learn to pay more attention during these lessons. For truly, you live a life most perilous, and the Sacred Art could provide some forewarning to the plans of your extraordinary foe, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named...." 

But Harry had heard this little speech a million times before, or however often he gave in to the arms of Morpheus, and since that was quite often, everyone else had heard it too. Indeed, Dean Thomas seemed to be about to resort to desperate measures; he pulled a Dungbomb out of his pocket and was prepared to throw it when the rather timely bell to signal the end of classes rang. In the commotion to pack up various divination devices and the haste to descend the silver ladder that led to the hallways below, Dean's frantic efforts to lob the explosive at the insect-like woman and Seamus Finnegan's equally frantic efforts to restrain him went unnoticed. 

Lunch was a blissfully uneventful affair for Harry, Ron, and their friend, Hermione Granger. This was a fairly momentous event, considering Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry rarely got off in a meal without one minor, or major, prank. Perhaps it was the absence of the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan, who had graduated last year and were sorely missed. 

"Dammit, double Potions this afternoon," groaned Ron, who was examining his schedule as he wolfed down steak and kidney pudding with amazing alacrity. 

"Where's Snape?" Hermione muttered, looking up at the staff table and leaving her own food momentarily. 

"Maybe he's ill," Ron suggested. "Then we wouldn't have to endure the Slytherins..." He trailed off hopefully. 

When they had finished lunch and made their way down to the dungeon corridor, they found the hall barred by a jam of students, both Slytherins and Gryffindors. Harry wriggled along the cold stone wall, feeling the rough stone rub and snag on his robes, and managed to duck and weave his way to the door, receiving several elbows in the stomach for his troubles. 

But the cause of the problem was immediately revealed. The classroom door was locked. "Professor!" Harry cried, hammering on the door with his closed fist. "It's locked!" 

"I am perfectly aware of that," said a melancholy female voice from behind the door-- a voice that was definitely not Snape's... or if it was, he had undergone some serious surgery. "I merely needed a moment to sort my papers and I did not wish to be disturbed. Severus left very messy records, I must say." 

The door swung open and Harry, along with the rest of the student body, gaped up at the tall woman before them. 

She had long sheets of blue-black hair (which were currently stuck up on red lacquered chopsticks) and sharp, strangely tilted amber-brown eyes. She was smiling, mouth closed, down her long straight nose at Harry in a friendly way, and he thought she looked very out of place in the gloomy dungeon. There was a vague air of wrongness about her face, too, which Harry couldn't place. 

"Come in," she said, standing aside. 

Harry was followed in by a multitude of students, all of whom gawped at the woman as they passed. Hermione, of course, was the first to ask about her presence. 

"Where's Sn-- er, Professor Snape, Professor?" 

"He's indisposed... sort of," said the woman. Her smile faded a little. Then she shook her head, as if to clear it, clapped her hands, and said, "Let's get started, shall we?" As the students found their seats (Slytherins on one side, Gryffindors on the other, as per usual), the woman chalked her name on the blackboard. _ Professor Maria Bargram _ cut straight as white knives across the dark surface of the board. Hermione, Ron and Harry traded glances at the unusually muggle-sounding name, and Harry spent the next five minutes staring at Professor Bargram, trying to figure out what was so odd about her face and eyes. However, it was Ron who hit on it first. 

"Look at her eyes," he whispered quietly, so no one but Harry and Hermione could hear. "The pupils aren't round." 

"The market for hair-thickening and hair-growing potions is quite large," she told them. Professor Bargram had an odd way of holding her mouth almost closed and moving it very little when she spoke, and she looked like a rather poor ventriloquist. "Many witches and wizards have struck it rich off of marketing hair care products." ("Like Lockhart wanted to," whispered Ron.) 

Even the Slytherins were fairly quiet throughout the lesson, figuring it would not be wise to antagonize this possibly impartial new teacher. 

Homework was a surprise, however, for when the lesson was finished, Professor Bargram did not write anything on the large blackboard at the head of the class, but instead turned to face the students themselves. 

"I want you all to write an essay on a specialty potion that does something only under the right circumstances. A Wolfsbane potion, for example, which does nothing to humans but allows werewolves to keep their own minds when they transform. It must be a specialty potion, but you may take your pick of what kind." 

Hermione looked as though Christmas had just come early. 

*** 

The scream filled the room, a long, unearthly wail of pure terror that ended abruptly when the man in blue lunged forward and clamped a callused hand tightly over Denae's mouth again. "Are you mad?" he demanded angrily. "There are Dark Creatures outside, searching for us. Do you want them to find us?" 

Denae stared at the man's unveiled face, a look of fear on her face. Her eyes were wide and her face as white as paper. The man sighed, and removed his hand. 

"You!" Denae hissed, when she got her breath back. 

"What?" asked the man, puzzled. 

"You-- you-- your skin--" Denae stared at him. The man's eyes were dark, and heavy-lidded, the eyelashes long and black. He was obviously Indian, however, the tilt of his eyes and his silky black hair betrayed him. 

What was not Indian about him was his skin. Instead of the usual golden-olive hue, the complexion of his face was.. well, there was no other way to put it: tinged with midnight blue. All but a small area around his eyes and in the darkened interior of the shop, it was a terrifying effect-- it looked as though the man had died and been reanimated. 

"I know, I know." The man sighed again. "It's the cloth I wear. The dye they use has permanently stained my skin." 

"Why do you--" began Denae, but at that moment, a jumble of voices became distinguishable through the half-open door. 

"--that's where they went, over there--" 

"--Gareth, cover that entrance--" 

"--only two doors--" 

"Quick! In here!" The man seized Denae's arm and dragged her over to a large, walk-in style wardrobe, carved all over with pictures of skeletal women with floor-length hair. He wrenched the door open and shoved Denae inside, then crawled in after her, settling himself among the fur coats, tunics and dress robes. 

There were more muddled voices, discussing something, then a loud voice said the first intelligible thing since they had hidden. 

"The Bean Nighe isn't here." 

"If she wants to be an idiot and stay hidden, that's her and the Baroness's problem," replied a sharp voice. 

"It's treason to talk like that, Gareth, I could have you turned in." Footsteps echoed through the room, and then someone began to tug on the handle of the wardrobe door. The man in blue gritted his teeth and pulled inward as hard as he could on the door in the limited space of the wardrobe. 

"You and what army, fumblefingers? You can't even get that door open --" 

"Oi! Over here! We found someone!" The shout came from outside. "But... blimey... I dunno.. alley trash, I'd say..." 

There were further murmurings from the voices, then the soft padding and heavy clumps of shoes on stone. The pull on the door slacked off suddenly, leaving the man in blue to lean against the back of the wardrobe, panting, and Denae to watch the searchers through a crack in the doorframe. 

"You there," barked a voice, and Denae jumped. One of the men, Gareth, was speaking to someone just outside the door of the shop. "Have you seen anyone-- a man in blue robes, a girl with red hair and blue eyes?" 

"Why should we waste our time on the likes of you?" a female voice drawled. 

"Make it worth our while and we might tell you," another one said. "Five Galleons for the direction they went." 

There was a rattling, scraping noise, as though someone had just drawn a knife. "Now, look, you pop-eyed, triple-breasted whores, I want to know where they went, and I want to know now. Understand? Otherwise I might just cut out your tongues, and I'm sure you'd find that rather a hindrance in your trade." 

"I don't know... how much do you think a gangster'd pay for a mute moll, sir? Sure, there are some disadvantages, but--" 

There was a sharp intake of breath, and the drawling female cut off abruptly. 

"All right. I saw them heading back for the alley. They'll probably cut across Charring Circle and back to Diagon Alley. Now, please, leave. We're losing business." The woman's voice was frightened. 

"You're coming with us," leered Gareth. "If we don't find 'em, you can be their replacements... on the gibbet." 

"Naw, they're far to pretty to waste on the crows," said another voice. "I'll tell you what I'd like to do; I'd like to take that pretty one and--" 

"Please, gentlemen," one of the women pleaded. "I've got children, I can't leave them--" 

"Bastards, they are," spat Gareth. "I do believe I'm going soft in my old age. All right, we'll leave you here. With a guard to make sure you don't do nothing funny, of course. It'd be in your best interest if you didn't make, say, any moves that could be subject to misinterpretation, if you know what we mean. Bruno, stay here and make sure the two broads don't escape." 

"Right, Boss." 

"All the rest of you, move out," Gareth ordered. "Take the back route to Charring Circle, and Martin, Van, Buren and I'll go the straight way." 

The mob moved off down the street, splitting into two groups. 

Sure enough, there came a yell from outside, a feminine shriek. "Look out! Sir! Behind you!" 

"Wha? Where?" growled the guard, spinning. There was a swish and a sickening thunk. "You bitch, you stabbed me," bellowed the guard, and there followed a confusing melee of noise, that ended with an unpleasant crack and the soft steady drip, drip, drip of liquid. 

Back in the shop, the man in blue turned the door handle and helped Denae out of the wardrobe. They proceeded cautiously to the door as voices drifted through it. 

"Give me a light, won't you? I could use a smoke; that was a near miss." 

The man in blue stepped through the doorway, Denae timidly following him. Her face went pale and she fought down a gag at the scene before her. 

Two tall women in slinky black dresses, both wearing blue sashes as belts, both with heavy, dark honey-blonde hair, both wearing knee-high boots of soft leather, stood over a man in the street. The man was obviously dead-- his eyes were blank and glassy and his mouth slightly agape in an expression of horror. There was a small dagger buried in one arm and his head had hit the curbstone with enough force to cause a pool of blood beneath it. One of the women was holding a lighter; the other taking long drags off a cigarette. 

"These guard types really should learn to be a bit more careful, Amit," said the woman with the cigarette, stepping forward and over the fallen man. As she moved into the light, Denae saw she had wide, innocently baby-blue eyes. "This one here impaled himself on my dagger, accused me of doing it, then clumsily tripped over my foot, and then was unprofessional enough to hit his head and cause a mess in the street. And _then _ he went and _ died _ on us. Inconsiderate. I'm very disappointed indeed." 

"On the plus side, you rescued her," observed the other woman, also coming up to stand beside the man in blue. She looked exactly the same as the first, and with a start, Denae realized they were identical-- twins. 

"I'll wager you haven't even introduced yourself," laughed the first woman. The man in blue frowned. 

"There wasn't exactly a lot of time after she yelled--" 

The lady snorted. "Well, what do you expect when you show them your skin without warning? It's not exactly normal, is it?" the second asked rhetorically. "Anyway, there's plenty of time for that now." 

The man in blue shrugged. "Why not? I'm Amit. That one--" he indicated the first twin "--is Rizpah, and that one--" he gestured to the second twin "--is Rahab. They're assassins," he added causally. 

Denae's eyes widened perceptively, and when she told them who she was, there was a slight quaver in her voice she wished had not been there. Rahab raised a heavily penciled eyebrow at her, but made no comment. Rizpah looked sideways at Denae, a long suspicious glare. Amit did not seem to notice. 

"Shall we move on, then?" queried Rahab, after a moment's silence. "Those thugs ought to be back in about an hour, and I for one don't want to run into them again if it can be helped." 

Amit nodded his agreement, and the four walked quietly off through the street. Amit led, his hand on a dagger at his waist, then Rahab, with a protective arm around Denae's shoulders. Rizpah provided rearguard, a silver knife with an eight-inch blade in her hand, quiet and watchful. Her well-worn leather boots made a soft scraping noise on the stone roadway; the only other sound was the click of Denae's heels and the quiet nasal breath of the man in blue. He had replaced his veil. 

About half an hour later, and still in the dark and dirty highway where Denae had taken a wrong turn, they entered a slum. Thin women, big-eyed children and greasy-looking men lounged about on streetcorners and in shop doorways. A few slept under awnings, snoring uproariously. None of them seemed to have wands; perhaps they couldn't afford them. One young child with red hair looked at them as they passed, pointing them out to her companion, a boy of similar age with long, filthy black hair and brown eyes. The red-haired girl's other tiny hand was twined through the grating by the curb. 

Amit took no notice of these unfortunates. Rahab shot them a pitying glance, Rizpah a slightly contemptuous one. Denae's face showed no emotion at all as she surveyed the squalor. 

But halfway through the slum, they stopped. Beside them was an inn, the faded sign above proclaiming it "The Stinky Cheese Log". A set of rickety steps lead up to the door, which was elevated above the street, and the sound of low voices emanated through the slightly ajar door. 

"Ian'll have 'em lined up," said Rizpah, advancing up the steps and sheathing her knife in her boot-top as she did so. "But I reckon we can clear out the rabble quick enough." 

Denae followed Rizpah through the heavy wooden door and into the main common room of the inn. The room was dark with smoke, the only light from the flickering fire and the high-bracketed torches on the walls. Drunkards downed mug after mug by the fire; some leprechauns sat in a dark corner, sipping to what all accounts appeared to be tiny shot glasses of cooking sherry. Everywhere were failed witches and wizards; Squibs, or shop owners who had sunk their entire monetary wealth into expanding their inventory. They all had one thing in common: everyone seemed to find solace in drink. 

The bartender up at the bar was a tall man with a hooked nose, greasy dark brown hair, black eyes and sallow skin. Amit sidled up to him and said a few well-chosen words. The bartender nodded, and then addressed the room, which went instantly quiet. 

"All right, folks," he called with practiced authority. His voice was as oily as his hair. "Everyone out, Cheese Log's closing early tonight." 

There were some collective groans, but no one really objected. One drunk in the corner yelled back, "Yeah, we always have to clear out when those two whores come in. C'mon, can't we stay and watch?" 

"You are the last person I would expect to be a _ voyeur, _ Matthew," said the bartender, turning a calm gaze on him. Chuckles ran around the room; apparently Matthew wasn't the only one to have been the focus of sarcasm in days gone by; other people were remembering too. "And they're assassins, not whores." 

There was a sudden scramble for the door. The leprechauns in the corner extracted some gold out of the pockets of their red vests, threw it onto the table, and promptly vanished into thin air. The rest, less magically apt beings within the room pressed around the door, fighting tooth and nail to get through. Those who had wands blasted a path through the battling crowd and forced their way outside. 

Amit raised a quizzical eyebrow at the barkeep. He shrugged nonchalantly. "Anything I can get you?" he asked, as the last of the customers fled out into the street. 

"A large martini, please," said Rizpah, smothering her third cigarette in the ashtray on the bar and fiddling with her lighter. 

"A small shot of cognac, if you don't mind," added Rahab. "And some butterbeer for the young one here." She placed a hand on Denae's shoulder. Denae stared at it pointedly, then up to Rahab, then down again until Rahab withdrew. 

"Amit?" the man inquired. "Anything to drink?" 

Amit looked up hopefully. "Do you have a very large glass of water?" 

A few minutes later, they were all relaxing at the deserted bar with their respective drinks. Denae sipped her butterbeer and grimaced; she _ hated _ anything fizzy, and would have rather had cider. The adults discussed estimated time of travel, where the searchers were now, and other matters which did not interest Denae very much at all. The only person who seemed to notice this was the bartender. He sat down next to her and offered a long, pale hand. "Ianmonstin Snape," he said, by way of introduction. "But call me Ian." 

"Denae Gordon.... did you say Snape?'" Denae gaped at him. This man was a Snape? But he seemed so... well, nice. 

"Must have; it's not a very common name, is it? Why?" 

"Oh.. no reason..." Denae felt herself blush. "I just.. know someone else named Snape, that's all." 

"Oh, really? Who?" Ian Snape's eyes were just as black and unreadable as Severus's. 

Denae realized it probably wouldn't be a good idea to say she was collecting information on Severus Snape for the headmaster of Hogwarts. Still, no harm in asking if he was related, if she did it casually. Perhaps she could find out some more about Severus Snape's family. 

"He's the Potions master at Hogwarts," she said carelessly. "Severus Snape. Are you related?" 

Ian laughed bitterly. "I should say so. We're brothers, of a sort. Never really got along." 

_ I can see why not, _ thought Denae, but didn't say anything about it. Instead she said, "Oh. I wondered about Snape's family, you see. Can you gi-- who else is there?" 

Ian's voice was suspicious. "Why do you want to know?" 

_ Uh-oh. _ Fighting to keep the panic out of her voice, she said, "I'm... er... doing a genealogy chart for all prominent wizarding families. Yeah. And someone... uh.. told me that the Snapes were one." Denae personally thought that was a pretty weak excuse, but Ian seemed to accept it. 

"Oh. Well, let's see. I'm quite into genealogy myself, actually. There's Raj Snape, our father, and Regina Snape, our mother. Then, in order of age, there's Giavanna, our eldest sister, and then Severus, and then me, Ianmonstin, and then Rhysenn, our youngest sister. Giavanna's married, but kept her maiden name. Her husband is Leon Wolf, and they have two children, a boy called Aurelian, who's about sixteen or so and a girl named Chandra, a year or two younger..." 

Denae struggled to keep up with the barrage of weird names that was assaulting her brain and making her head spin as Ian rambled on about his family. After about five minutes of steady family history, Denae dropped her forehead to her hands. _ I was afraid of getting not enough information... I didn't think I'd get too much... _

That butterbeer really was beginning to look appetizing; she raised her mug to her lips and was just about to drain the tankard when there came a sharp rap on the door. 

"Ah, Amit?" Rahab tapped Amit on the shoulder. "I don't think we have to speculate about estimated time of arrival with those thugs anymore. They're here." She pointed calmly at the door. 

Amit stood up and peeped through the curtains out the window. Then he stated, with great feeling and in no uncertain terms, his opinion of the situation. 

"Bugger." 

***

Draco sat on Lizyrd's bed, staring at the wall. Lizyrd had gone out to talk to her father; he could hear their voices in the next room, conversing heatedly. The words were muffled but Draco could still hear the tones; a male voice said something undistinguishable, but with a sharp undertone, and a cool female voice, Draco assumed it was Lizyrd's, in response. The male voice replied angrily, and then there was the sound of footsteps. Lizyrd opened the door, came in, closed it rather forcefully and sat down on her desk. Draco stared at her. She was very pale, her face totally expressionless, her mouth closed, but her eyes were burning. 

"All right, what's pissed you off?" asked Draco quietly. 

"What?" Lizyrd looked around at him as if just realizing he was there. Her voice was as emotionless as her mouth. "Oh, just Dad. How do you know I was ticked?" 

"Because you looked just like me when I'm hacked off about something." 

Lizyrd smiled, tight-lipped, but the fire in her brown eyes eased a little. "Is there anything I can get you?" she asked. "Something to drink?" 

Draco thought for a moment. "Do you have anything to eat in this hell-hole?" 

If he'd considered what he was saying for a moment, he probably would have phrased it differently, as the barb about her house and room surely wouldn't help her temper. Draco had a feeling that with anyone else, they would have been offended, and so he waited for the onslaught of insults, but they never came. Lizyrd just laughed. 

"Wait until Dad leaves. Then we can scavenge. He'll be leaving for work soon." 

Draco was curious. He had no idea what Muggles did for a living. "What kind of work is it your dad does, anyway?" 

"He works at a hardware store. He's a--" 

"Bye, Lizyrd, I'm leaving!" The yell split the air, and Draco was surprised the walls didn't fall down around them. 

"See ya," Lizyrd bellowed absently. Her response was, if possible, even louder. It sounded very odd coming from someone as small as she was. 

"Lock up the door after me, won't you?" 

"Righto." 

"Does everyone call you Lizyrd?" asked Draco, his curiosity piqued. 

"Yeah. I doubt half my friends even remember my real name anymore." 

"What is your real name?" Draco insisted. 

"Not telling. Now, you want some food or what?" Lizyrd stood up with one fluid motion and strode out of the room. There was the clunk of a door being locked, and then quiet footsteps back through the hall to her room. She stuck her head around the doorframe. "Come on." 

Draco followed her down the hall. "There's the bathroom," she said, pointing to a door off the corridor. "If you need it." 

"Thanks," said Draco gratefully. He went into the bathroom and shut the door. 

Lizyrd proceeded down the hall to the kitchen. She was, in actuality, thankful for the time to collect her scattered thoughts, and do a bit of planning. She opened the refrigerator door. They had an extra person to feed now, and usually the only food they had in mass quantity was tofu-- not because they were particularly poor, but because no one seemed to find the time to do little things like grocery shopping. 

Lizyrd sighed, and leaned against one wall. _ Listen to me, reasoning things out as usual. I don't even know how long he'll be here; rationalizing is completely pointless. It's not as if he's even really my responsibility, it's not my fault he got dumped _ here, _ of all places, by whoever sent him. Well, what do I think of Malfoy himself? _

She answered her own question without the slightest hesitation. _ He's all right, I guess. Probably terribly confused about the whole ordeal, I know I would be. Doesn't seem particularly trustful, but oh well. Sarcastic, but that doesn't bother me. I wouldn't have made it this far in fencing if I didn't have an elephant hide. Literally and figuratively. _

Lizyrd looked up at a particularly loud creak. It didn't take a genius to figure out someone was walking down the hall, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that person was probably her... impromptu guest. She sighed, opened up the fridge again, and stuck her head inside. 

"I've got the stuff for sandwiches, if you want them," she said, not bothering to look over her shoulder but managing to address the general area where he was anyway. 

Draco jumped. He didn't realize she knew he'd even walked in, let alone knew where he was standing. "Uh, yeah, sure," he offered, hoping he sounded offhand. 

Lizyrd emerged, her arms full of food, and kicked the refrigerator door shut with one bare toe. Then she literally threw a sandwich together, set it on a plate, and gave it to Draco. They both sat down at the table. Draco wished he could wolf his sandwich, but Lizyrd was staring at him and it made him very oddly uncomfortable, and perhaps a bit tingly in the general vicinity of his ears. 

Draco glanced down at his sandwich. _ Ah, to hell with it, _ he thought. No Malfoy was going to be prevented from eating quickly simply because some Muggle girl was looking at them. He picked up his food determinedly and took a large bite. 

Rather a bit too large, in fact. He nearly choked on a piece of cheese, but managed to swallow most of it, then took another, smaller bite. He finished the sandwich swiftly in this way and Lizyrd took his plate, and set it by the sink. 

"We're going for a walk," she announced. "I'm supposed to cook dinner tonight for myself, and we haven't got holy mother of pearl to eat." 

Draco snorted. 

"Of course," she added wickedly, grinning, "I'm not usually technically supposed to go for walks, especially along the highway, when my parents aren't home, but-" 

"You don't usually technically have a handsome six-foot tall blonde male personage with you," finished Draco. 

"Niiice. I wasn't actually going to mention the blonde part, but other than that, you talk like I do." 

"If you say so." 

"Shall we?" 

The neighborhood was just like Draco would have imagined. Boring Muggle houses lined the streets, curtains closed against the late morning summer sun, and air conditioners hummed in every yard. Very soon his shirt was sticky with sweat, and Draco was beginning to regret he had agreed to come. Lizyrd did not seem fazed at all by the heat, and kept up a fast pace, while still managing to talk. 

"I trust you will protect me from, shall we say, untoward, uncanny and unnecessary advances from anyone I don't personally recognize?" she asked. Draco realized she had a talent for lining up big, hard-to-process words in rapid succession and was also doing it on purpose. 

"Of course," he panted. 

"Unless, of course, those advances come from one particular extremely tall blonde of the male moiety of society." 

Lizyrd laughed and ran up ahead before Draco could think of a suitable reply. Although if he had to say one, "What the hell is a moiety?" was looking like a definite winner. 

They came out of an intersection on to the highway. Draco was amazed at all the speeding cars, and looked at them for most of the walk. A large building, presumably the grocery store Lizyrd had implied, was just up into view in the smoggy distance ahead when Lizyrd dropped back to walk next to him and said, without moving her mouth, "There are two people, following us. They don't look friendly." 

"So?" said Draco, beginning to look over his shoulder. Lizyrd seized his arm. 

"Don't look! Just keep walking, but take a peep over your shoulder, careful like. Pretend you didn't see them." 

Draco snuck a quick look out of the corner of his eye. His heart began to pound against his ribcage like an inexpertly wielded war-hammer; it turned out that his acting abilities were the least of their worries.... 

A man and a woman walked some fifteen feet behind them, pretending to be interested in a clearing full of wildflowers by the roadside. Both were dressed expertly in Muggle clothing-- trousers, shirts, even jackets despite the hot day. Both had their sleeves rolled up. 

Both were carrying wands. 

And even from this distance it was visible, on the white skin of the inside of their forearms- 

The Dark Mark. 

A/N: I'm so evil, I'm so evil... ::does a dance:: Next chapter: scene in the grocery store (someone gets beaned upside the head by an economy-size package of feminine products, just so you know), we have our first snog- but it might not be who you think, Rahab and Rizpah do their stuff, Ianmonstin--what an awesome name-- Snape shows his mettle, and we find out who kidnapped Severus and why. Anyhoozle, big long thanks section: (you realize this adds 5k to the story..) 

Thanks to ::rolls up sleeves:: Lana Mavi, Orpheus, PadfootMew, and Miss Liss for being my betas, thanks to Bob Spelled Backwards for being one of my previous betas, thanks to Emily Malfoy (I know, Malfoy rocks), Brooke, (HEY! EVERYONE! BROOKE'S MY SISTER! (Heh, that got your attention.) Isn't she cool?), AliEnChick, (you think I'm good? Aw..), Roxanne Malfoy, Split Personalities Are We, (heheh, what an awesome name!), Monkey Girl, Athena Lionfire, (glad you like it), Sophie Clark/Willow, (screw Nick, let's you and I go see Bella Fleck!), SaltineRitz, (you rock!), Harrys Crush, BabyBerry, Nykto, Amanda, Dewi, *Star**Kitty*, Nunya, Jo, Netsurfer77, Trinity, Gem, Someone, Devonny Stratton, Kelly, Sailor Courtney V, and I really think I need to go have a lie down. Or paint my toenails. Yes, definitely paint my toenails. ::faints:: 

As Spamwarrior would say, bite my shiny metal ass! Or, as I would say, bite my dull unpolished ass! 

Lizyrd 


End file.
